Poignant (children ment.)

We did make it out of town through a window in the weather. We left early (at my urging) on Tuesday Dec. 23rd. Drove on packed snow on the windy road down our hill to access a state highway south to Interstate 5. From Portland to Salem took 2 hours; normally it's about a 45 min drive. It was white-knuckles the whole way to Salem on solid ice, broken and rutted. We have the 'studless' snow tires and didn't put on chains. The Fear was that traffic, which was extremely heavy, would come to a complete stop on an incline and we might not be able to get moving again. To our good fortune though, south of Salem the ice turned to slush turned to wet pavement and even became dry. Our speed returned to normal highway speed and the climb over Siskiyou Pass was uneventful. It would have been unbearable to be in icy conditions all the way to California when the elevation would drop.

Turns out we left at just the right time. Had we delayed any longer we'd have been caught stuck for several hours on the stretch of highway and I-5 that the Dept of Transportation closed to scrape the surface clean.

After Christmas at my parents' we drove to San Francisco to stay in the heart of Chinatown. Monday morning we went to a dim sum restaurant, the kind where they push around the carts. We'd had a successful experience the day before at a little dim sum stand, so I thought the boys would enjoy this. However Scott's food sat nearly untouched on his plate.

It had been cold, and both boys were wearing their new hats. Scott's was a beenie he had pulled down on his head nearly to his eyebrows. Just below the margin of royal blue was the edge of his bangs that had also been pressed down. So he was looking up at me from below the hair and hat rim, and the blue made his eyes look very vivid. Of course, at seven, he has that beautiful nearly waxen skin and he looked particularly luminous that morning in the bustling restaurant. As I ate he began asking questions, looking deeply into my eyes as I answered. At one point I caught my breath as I marveled that this beautiful child was mine.

"Mom?"

"Yes, Scott."

"You'll always be my mother." Part statement, part question. It was clear he needed a response, a corroboration. He does this quite a lot ("Mom, a cat is a mammal", "Yes, Scott, a cat is a mammal." Sometimes it drives me nuts.) So I said, "Yes, Scott, I'll always be your mother." He kind of nodded to himself as if this confirmed a hypothesis.

"And you'll always be my mother, even if you die."

"Yes, even if I die, I'll always be your mother." This time a little smile with the nod as if he was not only affirmed, but also reassured. His face was so open, so innocent and earnest that I nearly started crying there in the restaurant. It makes me tear up even as I write.

Boy they slay me sometimes. I think I'm walking along with the same-old usual, and then I fall right into a hole I hadn't seen.

Peculiar Dry Period

The feeling of being scattered and not-quite-caught-up has persisted, and it's impacting my ability to write posts, and comment on other people's.

Maybe to break the logjam I'll post pictures of a desert (to mirror my inner state).

A synopsis of the trip:

We drove approx 1200 miles to Breckenridge, CO, for a family reunion. My father is the oldest of 3 kids, each born 7 years apart. My parents had two girls (one who died in 1988, and one yours truly) and twin sons. (I am the firstborn of the grandkids.) My father's younger sister had three daughters, (the oldest of whom is about 6 years younger than me) and their youngest brother never had children. He's about 9 years older than me.

Gary & I have 2 kids; my cousins have 5 sons and one daughter among them, one of my brothers has a daughter and a son, and my sister had had one daughter--the firstborn of the great-grandchildren of the grandparents my cousins and I share. So, 17 adults, 10 children, one house. One week, with some variation in duration to meet school and sports obligations.

It went quite well, all those personalities together. I was puzzled at how I seemed to naturally gravitate toward my aunt's family, much more than mine. There was just better chemistry there, and our conversation was spontaneous, very pleasurable (not forced, as with my parents and brothers), frequent, and frequently long.

We, Gary & our kids & I, left a day before the house needed to be vacated. Gary had ambitions to visit and re-visit some of the canyons and formations of southern Utah--we honeymooned there over 16 years ago.

First stop was Capitol Reef National Park, a very long, narrow, north-south oriented tract of land. In this portion of the trip I alone shot over 800 photos. Gary said it's a 'common mistake' with a digital camera. I suppose I epitomized that common mistake--everywhere I looked there was a picture. Obviously, this was shot while on the road.

There are petroglyphs here.

















Next day we drove through an aspen forest and then onto the most amazing of roads. It's hwy 12 toward the town of Escalante, and it's like driving on the spine between beautiful canyons. At places the drop-off below us on either side is hundreds of feet. To the west we're tracking the Calf Creek drainage on its way to the Escalante River (on it's way to the Colorado). I'm not sure what creek drainage is to the east. There's a little BLM campground, just 13 sites, and we were lucky enough to get one.





We had to ford Calf Creek to get to it.

Then we went for a hike upstream to find the falls. Scott didn't feel well, so Gary took him back to camp. Connor and I pressed on.

And on and ended up here:
As I arranged the photographs the obvious metaphor dawned on me.

Pressing on.

Provo, Utah

Heading back to Portland. If we can endure it, we'll be there late tonight. If not, sometime tomorrow.

More later.

"That man was a bastard!!!!" (part 4)

Timberline Lodge was having a barbeque, and I tried to tempt the boys. They would have none of it though, loudly proclaiming their preference to leave for Kahneeta. Consequently they were hungry and a bit peckish when we arrived about an hour before we could check into our room. So we ate in the restaurant there (and it was quite good!) and gazed longingly at the pool below.

A curious thing about Kahneeta is its hidden rough edges. The lodge is constructed basically in the shape of an obtuse triangle. All the rooms face east, with a good number overlooking...the resort's sewage treatment plant! Our room wasn't one of those, but we did have a misstep with the one elevator that serviced an entire wing of 5 floors. There is no indicator light so one knows what level they're on. Consequently we got off on level 3 when we thought we were on level 2. Since we'd already waited a very long time for the lift (full off luggage carts and people) we decided to just hoof our stuff down the steps.

The room is spacious with a balcony overlooking the desert hills. The boys went out to swim with Gary while I checked for an internet connection. Found that it's not available in the rooms, only in the lobby. When I was ready to head for the pool I noticed a sign on the towel shelf requesting guests to not take towels out to the pool. I noted that Gary had taken them. The sign also said that towels were available at the front desk and at the "Fitness Center". I took the stairs and then realized I'd overshot the pool deck and because of the layout had to walk all the way around the perimeter to get back to the access. I went to the front desk to request a towel and was told I had to get them at the fitness center. "Right by the vending machines". Passed the empty vending machines, found the towels, back to the pool. Blocking the entry was a family, the apparent head of it saying to one of its members: "I thought you had a fucking hamburger". One of the members reached out to guide him out of the way when they saw me waiting.

Perhaps the casino doesn't attract the most classiest of clientele. I think it was the disregard for the presence of others that bothered me. From the unsteadiness of his gait as I later saw him walking toward their spot laden with beverages I surmised the drinking had been pretty steady. Later I noted them throwing each other into the pool fully dressed.

But, for the moment I wanted one of those beverages. A marguerita would taste quite good. So I retraced his steps in to the bar. There was a woman behind the bar, but from her steadfast avoidance of eye contact it was clear that she wasn't there to pour drinks. I joined a woman who'd clearly been waiting a while. Presently the harried-looking bar-tender walked by pushing a food cart. When it was my turn I asked if I could use my room key to charge it to my room. He wanted to know my room number. It wasn't on the key card, but I fortunately remembered it. He consulted his computer and said I had to make some arrangement with the front desk for room-card privileges. As I had no cash and it was a long walk to the room I returned to the poolside empty-handed.

Back at the room I was lobbying the family for a walk. At the front desk I'd been handed a trails map and thought it might be nice to do just before sunset. Overt resistance from Connor, and this time I insisted. "Look, we've been doing things the way you've wanted to do them and sometimes you've got to reciprocate." So there was an agreement that there would be a walk, but no one was moving off the bed or turning off the TV. In exasperation I proclaimed I was going to go by myself at which point Gary rousted them.

From our balcony it appeared that we could walk over toward the stables and access the trailhead, but instead the grounds dead-ended at a steep slope on the far corner. As we were finding another way around Scott suddenly had to use the toilet. We were close to the fitness room and opted to use the toilet in there. The door was locked, but the toilet vacated shortly after, but Scott decided he needed that moment for a drink at the drinking fountain. I decided to take the opportunity for myself, and while using it there was a knock. Assuming it was Scott I said, "You'll have to wait a moment. (You lost your turn)" There was a hard knock, and then a very loud slap. "Stop that!" I exclaimed.

When I opened the door, there he was, very upset. He said that it hadn't been him that hit the door, it had been a man. And, "That man was a bastard!" "Scott, I don't want to hear you use that word again. It's not appropriate for a seven year old." He used the toilet and we walked out into the fitness center. "Dad", said Scott, "A man hit the bathroom door while Mom was inside. Why did he do that? That man was a bastard!" "Scott..."

Into the lobby of the lodge. Scott's telling Gary the entire story, and ending with the refrain, "That man was a bastard!" At this point I was thoroughly exasperated. "Scott, I'm going to take you into that bathroom there (the lobby restroom) and wash your mouth out with soap!" (I've never made that threat before. Odd to hear it coming out of my mouth.) "I swear, if it was not ok for you to say that a minute ago, it's not ok now either! Now I mean it, I don't want to hear it again."

Outside the lodge, headed toward what looked like a trail. Scott is furious with me and demanding that I apologize. In defiance he walks up on a curb, which he slips off of and falls, skinning his ankle a bit. When he saw the spot of blood he began to sob that he needed a band-aid.

It's becoming clear to me by now that we're not having any kind of a walk that night, but I have hope that we still might be able to walk up the hill behind the hotel. I manage to get him to accept that if it's still bleeding when we return I'll get him a band-aid from the front desk.

Headed up the hill his thoughts returned to the bathroom experience, and his need to tell the tale. I explain to him that he can say he's angry with the man, that the man behaved poorly, even was stupid, but he cannot call the man a bastard. We're up on a rim rock looking down on the lodge and I'm nervous because both he and Connor are wanting to stand up on the rock and there's a long drop in front of them. I can trust that Connor can keep a presence of mind and awareness of his position, but I don't have that trust for Scott. However, Scott feels if Connor has gone an inch higher than himself than it's unjust for him to have not achieved the exact elevation. And he can't rest inside until he's satisfied himself that he has done this.

So, we're starting down and a Scott's feet slip from under him and he lands on his butt and hands. A small piece of skin on his palm has peeled back and so we stand for a while with our arms around each other. To my surprise he removes the piece of skin and allows me to pour a little water over it. But it's clear our walk is over.

At least all thoughts of bastards are driven from his mind.